


things which enclose me

by flimsy



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Morning Sex, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-12 23:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flimsy/pseuds/flimsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lazy morning sex.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>Louis slides his hands up Zayn’s thighs and squeezes his arse, then nudges his nose against Zayn’s chin. “Were you watching me sleep?” he asks.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	things which enclose me

There’s a feather stuck to Louis’ lashes that Zayn has been watching for the past five minutes, the way it flutters when Louis’ eyes move rapidly in the course of his dream. He’s been wanting to reach out and remove it for about that long, too, but that would mean waking Louis up and interrupting whatever world he’s caught in currently, and Zayn would hate that because he would hate if somebody did that to him. 

He exhales softly, stretches his legs and feels his joints crack, the ache of a sleep too long, of too much heat between two bodies, with sweat fusing them together and stealing the space between them. He could, he muses, fall back asleep now, if he closed his eyes again and let it take him. 

It’s late, though. Judging by the amount of light flickering through Louis’ thick curtains, noon can’t be too far off. Zayn smiles at the notion that they missed breakfast time and are about to miss lunchtime, that they stayed up almost until it was light outside, rutting like horny teenagers until they were too exhausted to, laughing into each others mouths and whispering secrets until their air ran out. 

Zayn can feel it in his bones, the strange mix between exhaustion and exhilaration, he feels heavy and sated and hyperaware of every breath Louis takes, of the way his nose is sunburnt, more so than the high angle of his cheekbones. 

Louis shudders, lashes fluttering, and twitches in his sleep, mouth tightening momentarily. Something in Zayn reacts to it before his mind catches up, an instinct buried deep, and he reaches up and cups Louis’ neck and jaw in his hand, shaking him gently. 

“Hey,” he says and clears his throat when his voice sounds strange, too quiet. Louis makes a sound and blinks his eyes open, looking disoriented for a moment, and then sighs when he sees Zayn. He reaches up and catches Zayn’s hand in his own and Zayn leans in and kisses him carefully, nothing but a light touch of lips. 

“Nightmare?” he asks and Louis nods and then pulls away to yawn and stretch like a cat. He makes another sound and moves closer, huddling against Zayn. 

“Your feet are cold,” he says against Zayn’s neck, almost bemused and Zayn chuckles and shrugs.

“Sorry,” he replies and fits his arm over Louis’ back. 

“Hrmph,” Louis says, but he doesn’t sound like he really means it, and he also presses even closer, rubs his own feet over Zayn’s cold toes. He slides his hands up Zayn’s thighs and squeezes his arse, then nudges his nose against Zayn’s chin. “Were you watching me sleep?” he asks. Zayn can feel him grin and he bites his lip, unsure for a moment if he’s willing to admit something like that just yet, if one night is enough to break down all boundaries. 

“Nah,” he mumbles, then ducks down, wiggling until their eyes are on the same level again. “Well, maybe. You look like a dog when you sleep. Twitching and stuff. It was hard to look away, you were funny.”

“Shut _up_ , you twat,” Louis grunts and bites at Zayn’s chin. “I do not. I’m sure I look like Adonis when I sleep.” 

Zayn yelps and laughs, shaking his head. “More like Hatchi,” he says and then bites his tongue, wincing at himself. 

Louis goes quiet for a moment too long for Zayn to pretend that he didn’t catch it, and then leans up and kisses Zayn again. He’s tender and careful, not like last night when everything about him felt raw and wild and Zayn was almost afraid it’d eat him up, that Louis would eat him up. He leans into it and traces his hands up Louis’ back to dig his fingers into his shoulders. 

This slow pace of their kiss is odd, almost unfamiliar to him now, after the frantic haste they got caught up in a few hours earlier; Zayn remembers ripped off buttons and can still feel the bitemarks on his neck and thighs and hips; he remembers the energy between them that wouldn’t let them stop and slow down. 

This is different now. He kisses back lazily and opens up Louis’ mouth gently and kisses into it, no clicking teeth, no biting, just the sloppy press of their lips and tongues together until Louis pulls away, breathing hard. 

He cups Zayn’s face in his hands and presses their foreheads together, their eyes locked, and nips at his lips, but doesn’t bite. “Hey,” he says again, and Zayn pulls him closer, his heart picking up. “Hey,” he says back and smiles. “You’re warm.”

“You made me warm,” Louis replies and his eyes crinkle a little like he’s smiling and it should be cheesy - bloody hell, it _is_ cheesy - but Zayn is still endeared and this will just be another thing to add to their endless list of little secrets and in-jokes, of things that nobody else understands and Zayn likes that. 

He kisses Louis’ nose and pinches his waist. He could say something funny, biting, make Louis laugh, and before last night he probably would have. Instead he says, “You’re making me warm too.”

“Yeah?” Louis pulls away to grin at Zayn. “I was scared I shagged you all out last night.”

“Almost,” Zayn says. “Should’ve tried harder, Tommo.”

Louis pouts and grunts, then flips them over, straddling Zayn’s hips. He grinds down, half a smirk on his face, and Zayn gasps fitting his hands over his arse. 

“Dirty,” Louis manages, but he, too, sounds breathless and now - in Zayn’s lap and on display - it’s easy to tell that he’s getting hard, cock filling up quickly. 

Zayn looks up at him, grinning, feeling stupid but also amazed that he’s doing this to Louis, that Louis is getting hard for him. He rolls his hips, riding up a little, his erection wedged between his stomach and Louis’ thigh. “That’s how we roll-” he starts and then breaks off when Louis bends down and braces himself on his arms, his hands on Zayn’s shoulders, rocking down, lips slightly parted.

“Roll?” he asks and Zayn wants to come back with something witty but it feels like his brain is slowly draining from his ears with the way Louis shifts and allows Zayn’s cock to slide between his arse cheeks. 

Zayn squeezes it again, digs his fingers in and Louis moans and runts down, finding a sort of steady, sloppy rhythm braced over Zayn, his brows furrowed tightly. His breath hitches and Zayn parts his legs, digs his heels in for better leverage and meets him halfway, rocking up against him. 

“Zayn,” Louis whines and then presses their mouths together. He reaches back with one hand and tugs at Zayn’s wrist until Zayn gets the hint and wraps his hand around Louis’ cock. The head of it is slick with precome already and Zayn curls his fingers around it and starts stroking, matching Louis’ pace, allowing him to rock into his hand. 

Their kiss becomes messy and unfocused and Zayn can’t keep up with it, not with the way his cock is rubbing between Louis’ cheeks, with the way Louis is moaning and riding back against it as much as he’s trying to thrust into Zayn’s hand, his movements growing more and more frantic. 

He feels hot all over, tiny electric shivers running along his skin, and he can feel Louis’s cock get even harder in his hand, feels it leak and dribble over his fingers, and he wants to lick it up and not let go at the same time, wants to watch Louis come and not be distracted by the pull of his own orgasm. 

He groans loudly, thighs shaking, and Louis hisses and starts chanting, “Yes, yes, yes-”, his nails leaving more bruises. His body stutters, shivers and he comes, spilling over Zayn’s fingers, but he doesn’t stop moving, and Zayn feels his eyes roll back, heat rolling over him in a wave as orgasm washes over him. He goes numb for a few seconds, mouth slack, mind blank, sobbing against Louis’ mouth, and when his head has cleared, his limbs feel heavy and Louis, too, is heavy. 

Zayn kisses him again and Louis sighs and moves, lying down right there on top of Zayn, with his head on Zayn’s shoulder, his stubble rubbing over Zayn’s chest. 

They’re going to be sticky and disgusting later, Zayn thinks, so they should probably get out of bed and shower soon. Instead, Zayn shifts to tangle his legs with Louis’, burying his nose in his hair and inhaling his scent. 

“I’m not like a dog,” Louis suddenly says, his breath warm against Zayn’s neck. “I’m nothing like a dog.” He sounds surprisingly stubborn, a little defiant, and Zayn rubs his shoulder with his thumb, unable to combine words that make sense, caught up in postcoital bliss. 

“There was a feather,” he says stupidly. 

“What?” Louis replies, but he doesn’t move like Zayn almost expected him to. 

“There was a feather on your lashes and I was scared I’d wake you up,” Zayn explains. He closes his eyes, his heart beating so fast and so hard he’s sure Louis must be able to feel it, must be able to hear it with the way he’s pressed against Zayn. He’s a bit scared, but this is Louis and Zayn has never felt the need to hold back when it comes to Louis. “I like watching you sleep.” 

Louis hums, a low, oddly content noise, and when Zayn releases the breath he’s been holding and glances down, Louis is smiling.


End file.
